


A Hug

by Arlyshawk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Budding Love, F/M, Fluff, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elia Tabris always bottled up her troubles, but one day she finally cracks and Nathaniel Howe helps her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hug

**Author's Note:**

> I'm warning everyone now, what has happened to Elia is in no way all right. I don't condone what has happened to her, nor will I ever. If you're offended by this in any manner, shape, or form - I'm sorry.

She tries to focus on the dummy in front of her, swings contacting with the hay and cloth. A rip there and a tear there and the hay came spilling out of the dummy. She imagines that it’s the black-blue ribbons that reek of copper and steam in the cold of autumn. Elia draws a long inhale and exhales, letting her breath puff and curl in the air. It reminds her of when she was a young girl, when she used to play in the cold, mucky streets of her Alienage with her cousins. Tremors rattle down her hands - whether out of exhaustion or cold, she can't tell - until her daggers clatter out of her hands. 

She has been fighting for so long, hours it seems because when she came out into the yard the sun had just broken the sky. Now, it was nearly noon and the birds were fluffed up in the barren trees that are scattered throughout the courtyard. She's the only one, out here, in the cold and she shivers. Damn the bloody cold to all hell… Her feet fill with lead as she walks back to the keep, boots scuffing against the flagstones until she nearly trips over her own feet. 

The lingering thought of hands clutching at her, trying to rip her away from her skin. She can smell the alcohol still as their sick mouths drip on her skin, rotting it like snake venom on bare skin. She hates the memory. The laughter, the cold.. There are boards creaking, boots reeking of horse shit and piss, they're steel toed too. She has a few scars left from those damned shoes on her abdomen. 

All at once, the thought of those men that took her from her cousin make her scream, hands going into her hair and wrenching it at the roots. She mustn't think of them! No, no, no! It's all wrong. All of it! She should have never done it. Elia can see them still, at the far end of her mind, their beady eyes full of shadows and malice. She was their little caged bird that sang when they rattled her rusted cage. She could never more thankful for her father coming and fetching her from the dank floor. 

As she peels from the hall, she makes her way up a set of stairs and into her chambers that overlook the vast expanse of Ferelden land she had procured when she was given this by Queen Anora. The tree sway in the bitter wind and what few have leaves give away the last scraps of hair they have. She takes a slow, steadying breath. She is better than some memory. She is a commander now. She _must_ be strength, she must be the unshakable figure that her men look to when they've nothing else. And yet, the faint scratching voice in her mind says she is nothing more than a frightened creature, that she knows nothing else _but_ fear and anger. 

Elia sinks to the floor and takes a shuddering breath. Fear is the only thing she knows, that much is plain as tears blur her vision. But had she not been afraid when she fought Urthemiel? Had she not stared up at the Mother and felt a trickle of fear? It was always there, lingering, but this was something else… 

A knock at her door makes her start and kick the leg of her oaken desk, "What is it?" 

"Commander, I.. What are you doing?" Curiosity piques his voice, face scrunching just a touch. She can see Nathaniel's grey eyes peer over the top of the desk. They are more curious than anything, like a cat staring at a dog from atop a fence. Her Second sets down the papers on her desk and rounds the desk in a few easy strides. Nathaniel kneels beside her and does a cursory glance over her form. 

"I'm not hurt, Nathaniel," Elia tells him, lifting a hand. The lie is bitter on her tongue, like sour leaf. In truth, she is the more hurt than she realizes. She cannot bear the thought of lying to Nathaniel; she trusts him more than anyone on this earth. With the back of her hand, she smudges the tears that fall down her cheeks. "J-Just a bad memory." 

Nathaniel shifts to sit across from her, lanky legs tucking somehow neatly criss crossed. "Care to tell me?" 

Her eyes go wide, owlishly blinking at her Second as though he has lost his mind, "No! I mean, no. I don't want to trouble you." 

"Commander…" His words are quiet, voice low and gentle. "Elia, might I ask something of you?" 

The way he says her name makes her stiffen some. "W-What is it?" 

He gives her an easy smile, one that brightens his grey eyes with a strange kindness that she has seen in him only twice. Once before it was when he smiled at her for killing the Mother, the other was when he first made her laugh. "You seem in need a hug, commander." 

For a long moment, her brain stumbles and trips over itself, not sure of what he has asked of her. When was the last time has she _truly_ let someone hug her? She wants to say yes, because her heart aches with the thought of touching another human being that doesn't want to harm her. Without a second thought, she nods and her voice is soft in her throat, "I'd like that…" 

She scoots forward and lets her body fall into Nathaniel's. Her arms go round his waist and she presses her face into his shoulder while he loosely hugs her. No doubt for fear of frightening her. He has done that once, she knows, and she kicked him in the hip. He is warm and inviting to her, like a blanket that smells of clean air and spice. Her tears still fall, though they slow some and they soak into the blue cloth on Nathaniel's shoulder. 

"Thank you, Nate," Elia whispers, muffled by his shoulder. "Thank you so much." 


End file.
